


i'm smoking (come and put me out)

by amosanguis



Series: a/b/o AUs [12]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding, Cancer, Established Relationship, Green Bay Packers, Knotting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pregnancy and All Related Pregnancy Tags, Worldbuilding, because indoctrination and maybe some light brainwashing, everything's kinda nice but kinda fucked up, title from a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: Green Bay has always had one of the finest breeding barns in the NFL.





	i'm smoking (come and put me out)

**Author's Note:**

> General notes:  
> \--Title from this couple's theme for me: "Problem" by Natalia Kills. Endless thanks to ionthesparrow for the beta <3333  
> \-- **Possible squicks in the end notes**  
>  \--Aaron's State Farm house is featured prominently (don't know if it's his real house or not, didn't Google it).
> 
> Heads up:  
> \--There are various pairings that are only mentioned in passing so they're not tagged.  
> \--Part one has some non-linear moments.  
> \--If you don't know what a **Thoroughbred alpha** is, I borrow heavily from Della19's [A Functional Model of Real World Genetic Inheritance for Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437214). TL;DR - A Thoroughbred is an alpha of alphas who is a superior breeder because they have large cocks/testes and thus can produce a lot of semen; produced only through certain matings and were once considered very rare (until science and breeding programs caught up).

PART I

“Find me a good alpha. A strong alpha.”

 

Green Bay has always had one of the finest breeding barns in the NFL. Including one of the finest quarterback bloodlines that could trace itself back to its foundation sire: Earl “Curly” Lambeau.

 

-x-

 

Aaron knows that he needs to take his breeding year soon. He picks at his IV line instead of looking at his doctor who has been sighing at her clipboard for five minutes – indicating to Aaron that this doctor was either new or not with the farm’s usual medical team.

Finally, she looks up at him and Aaron can’t help himself as he reads what she wants to say by the look in her eyes, and he turns his head away from her.

“The good news is that you’ll make a full recovery,” she tells him with an edge of annoyance in her voice as she talks to the side of his face. “But, Mr. Rodgers—”

“I know,” Aaron cuts in; Aaron wasn’t going to listen to something he already knew; oh, yeah, definitely not with the farm’s medical team – she must be on loan from the town proper – because only a select few had the gall, or even the _right_ , to bring up Aaron breeding, that was the business of the stock managers. “The injuries are piling up. Not good if I want to carry a pup myself.”

“Surrogates are an option,” the doctor says, obviously working hard on keeping her voice neutral. “I’m sure the Packers’ barn has a large enough cooperator herd.”

Aaron looks over at the doctor, snaps, “No one’s carrying my pup but me.” This was a conversation he was _done_ with.

“Then I think you know what you need to do,” she responds coldly, standing in one smooth motion and walking briskly from the room.

Aaron groans as he gingerly ran his good hand through his hair. He knows breeding won't be horrible, couldn't be with who his assigned alpha was, but it was still be time away from football and _that_ is what Aaron isn't thrilled about. He also knows that he has responsibility to the farm – to carry on his pedigree and help to provide a future for the Packers team.

 

-x-

 

Clay Matthews Sr. was an alpha whose career at stud was far more successful than his career as a linebacker. He and his omega wife produced all alpha sons, but it was Clay Jr., whose wife was a hockey-playing beta and whose family brought in more size and speed, that produced the Thoroughbreds – all linebackers, all highly coveted around the League.

The linebacker position had the highest percentage of Thoroughbreds throughout the League, its ratio to those in other positions comparable to the NHL’s number of Thoroughbreds playing forward, especially at center.

Clay Matthews III’s breeding rights had been bought and paid for by the Vikings from the 49ers, who had controlling stock on all of the Matthews bloodline, but after Clay underperformed in college, coupled with his seeming inability to gain weight, they put him up for auction.

There weren’t many takers and Green Bay walked away from the table $52,000 lighter, but with a Thoroughbred in the stable, albeit an unproven one. And if worse came to worse, Clay’s height and speed would make an excellent addition to their quarterback lines.

 

-

 

Bart Starr, a descendent of Lambeau himself, _doesn’t_ have as much success at stud as the Packers had been hoping, but they keep him and his descendants in the barn – if just for that one name on the pedigree.

Then Lynn Dickey came to town. Dickey’s pedigree is incomplete for the most part, but the archivists dig and dig, looked through the records available to see if they could find any connections to any of the major sports pedigrees. All they find is a sprinkling of mediocre basketball- and average baseball players.

Dickey set new records, but never gets Green Bay to a Super Bowl. That latter fact and his proneness to injury make the stock managers wary about adding him to the barn. Then in 1983, as he came off one of his best years, Lynn sired a pup with favored omega tight end, Paul Coffman, who could trace his own pedigree back to Starr, and thus back to Curly Lambeau.

When both Dickey and Paul decide to leave the pup in the care of the farm, only giving him the name Aaron before signing the requisite paperwork, Aaron is assigned to a cooperator named Anise Rodgers.

 

-x-

 

Alphas and omegas generally had one of two viable career paths available to them: join the military or try to get a start in professional sports – the latter of which was always on the lookout for new talent that could improve their breeding stables.

What these two institutions did was provide organized and thorough healthcare so long as the alpha or omega was willing to forfeit, to a degree, their own breeding rights and those of the progeny of certain matings – those breeding rights could also be bought and sold, almost at will. There was just too heavy an investment in certain bloodlines and too much money could be made off of those who proved their bloodlines and embodied the desired breeding values (i.e., temper, strength, speed, stamina, courage, health).

Aaron – raised by Cooperator Anise, who always seemed to be heavily pregnant in Aaron’s oldest memories (he knows better now, knows that cooperators (who are all beta women), only carried as often as they liked) – was always aware of his pedigree and what would be expected of him when he’s ready.

The stock managers always stress that last part. When _he_ is ready. When _Aaron_ is ready to either conceive and birth the pup himself, or just donate his eggs to be fertilized by an approved alpha – whatever he wanted.

“Because, Aaron,” the stock manager in charge of Aaron, named SM Court, says, ruffling Aaron’s hair fondly, an action only tolerated because SM Court has always been a friend to Aaron and Cooperator Anise, as he hands Aaron a football, “you’re special. We want you as part of the team for as long as you _want_ to be here. And just because you make a child for your bloodline, that doesn’t mean you’ll have to take care of them alone. You’ll have the whole program behind you, helping you out.”

“What if I didn’t want to?” Aaron asks. Because he’s still gotta get through his first year of high school, something he doesn’t know he can do if he’s busy having babies. And SM Court must read his thoughts on his face because he just smiles gently, puts his hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“All we ask is that you think about it,” SM Court says. “It won’t be now, won’t be next year. Probably won’t be in _ten_ years, Aaron. You can take all the time you need, alright?”

“Alright,” Aaron echoes, working the football in his hands as he nods at the stock manager’s words.

Aaron makes it through high school and a delayed growth spurt before he finds himself in front of SM Court again, holding out that same football in one hand as he clenches a Butte jersey in the other – the college wasn’t on Green Bay’s approved college listing, but they had supported Aaron’s choice. And that cements Aaron’s loyalty to them, to the program.

“Alright,” he says as SM Court takes the football. “Find me a good alpha. A strong alpha. I want the best. And I’ll give you what you want.”

SM Court grins as he takes the football, twirls it lightly in his hands as he says, “You’ve got a deal, Aaron.”

Several years later, SM Court is hard at work convincing SM Ariens, SM Olson, and SM Murphy to spend the money necessary to buy the Matthews Thoroughbred from the Vikings.

“Trust me,” SM Court says, pointing at the screen showing Matthews being put through his paces, “he’ll grow into his name and his pedigree. Please, just trust me.”

SM Ariens purses his lips before looking over to SM Olson and SM Murphy, the two betas who would have the final say in how to proceed – SM Ariens was just here to write the check if it came to it.

Huffing, SM Murphy stands and buttons his suit jacket and, with a wave of his hand at SM Court, says, “You’re the expert. I’ll trust your judgement here.” And then he’s walking out of the room and the door hasn’t even completely shut behind him before SM Court gets into the bidding just as the Jets were about to snag Matthews – jumping the bid from $26,000 to $52,000, the auctioneer himself so anxious to end what had been a slow bidding session that he slams the gavel down without hesitation.

SM Court pulls out his phone and texts Aaron a simple message: _I found your alpha_.

 

-

 

There was always talk from the other stock managers about mating Aaron with Brett Favre, but one look between the two of them and SM Court had known that it’d never work. Statistically, it’d make sense – their stats and breeding values matched against each other nicely. But realistically? Never. Not with the pride both men had.

Aaron had his pride as a descendent of Lambeau and Starr and Dickey. Brett as an unknown who rose his way to the elites despite a pedigree that only went back two generations and consisted mostly of betas with the exception of an alpha grandmother. It didn’t help that Brett held no regard for Aaron; pedigrees, and the program itself, meant little to him.

As an alpha, Brett had the option of waiting for retirement before siring pups for the Green Bay barn – an appealing option he took advantage of only after a nearly disastrous mating with Reggie White ended in nothing being shared between them but their fangs, despite their close friendship. The stock managers decide to simply take genetic materials from them both, fertilize the embryo in a lab, and call on a cooperator to carry the pup to term. Only Brett had agreed to share a name with the pup, while Reggie had simply washed his hands of it. The pup was named Brett Hundley, given the last name of the woman, Cooperator April, who carried and raise him.

After his retirement, Brett was in talks with the stock managers, looking for a suitable omega and not liking any of the ones on file they presented to him, when, frustrated at the process, Brett threw up his hands and said he’d just return to football. But by that time, Aaron had already been promoted and settled in, given the same jersey number as his sire, and the coaches and management couldn’t (wouldn’t) let Brett back in.

Brett had made his threats, stamped his feet and tried to throw his weight around – but Aaron had the support of the organization he had been living with and training for for his whole life. Even when Brett threatened to buy back his own breeding rights and stored sperm (never used without permission, kept in case of accidental deaths and for various medical exams), SM Murphy hadn’t blinked an eye as he named the price: $7 million.

Brett had snarled viciously before pointing his finger in SM Murphy’s face, leaning over Murphy’s desk, and snapping, “Keep the shit, then. I don’t care what you do with it so long as none of it is used on Rodgers.”

“Not a problem,” SM Court says, voice cold as he stands from the leather couch where he’d been watching, the other stock managers rising with him. SM Court gestures to the office door, clearly dismissing Brett as he adds, “We already have another alpha in mind for him.”

All that does is seem to anger Brett further – his pride as an alpha wounded in spite of himself. Because Brett’s talents may have been made him a diamond in the rough, but they didn't make him irreplaceable. Especially now that Aaron was developed and ready.

The Jets and Vikings both try to buy Brett’s breeding rights as he drifts between the two teams, but the Packers never waver, and they keep the rights strictly in hand. With Brett giving up any authority over the stored sperm, the Packers were free to use it as they saw fit.

SM Court had a list of potential betas and omegas whose breeding values would match against Brett’s – but only time would tell, based on Brett’s pedigree, or lack thereof, whether his traits were a fluke or could be passed down and inherited. And it’s with that thought that SM Court pulls out his phone and texts Cooperator April, asking after the pup in her home.

 

-

 

When they are first introduced, Clay and Aaron hit it off right away – much to the delight of the stock managers. They're told that it's in the plan for Clay to be Aaron's alpha—

(“When the time comes,” SM Court says, smirking at the way Aaron's eyes keep drifting away from him and over to Clay, his nostrils flaring in an unsubtle way. “Wouldn't want you two to do anything you're not ready for.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Aaron says, still distracted. Clay himself isn't reacting much better – his eyes hadn't left Aaron once since Aaron had walked into the room.)

—and that up until then, as was standard protocol, they would both be on birth control and light suppressants in order to avoid, not just unexpected pregnancy, but also unscheduled heats/ruts.

The precautions are invaluable in maintaining the integrity of certain bloodlines. But, between Clay and Aaron, it turned out that the stock managers didn't need to worry.

 

-

 

It's hardly their first time coupling – that time had come and gone the night of their first Super Bowl win. They'd been drunk on expensive alcohol and each other and, if it hadn't been for the birth control, Aaron has no doubt he'd have gone into heat, triggered Clay's rut, and would have been forced into taking his breeding year.

Clay makes him desperate. All their years together and every time is like that first time – the roar of the crowd in their ears and champagne on their tongues. Clay’s scent a heady mix of turf and soap and _alpha_ that drives Aaron absolutely crazy. And whatever Aaron's scent is, it does the same to Clay.

Before his surgery to repair his second collar bone break, Aaron is told to skip both his daily birth control and bi-monthly suppressants pills (there were pills and patches for both that lasted longer, but athletes had to have the option for a quick turnaround given their circumstances).

After the surgery, Aaron is told to stay home, and Clay is told to stay away.

“Two months,” the doctor says, “at least. Your collarbone needs to heal as the rest of your body deals with all of your hormones coming back online.”

Aaron nods – he’s been through this process before the first time he broke his collarbone. He had almost taken his breeding year then – he and Clay had long since established themselves, were far more comfortable inside each other's spaces than outside – but Aaron had hesitated. He'd felt like their season wasn't quite over. And though him coming back hadn't garnered them a Super Bowl win, he still stood by his decision.

This time, though, this time Aaron knows what the right choice is.

“Are you sure?” Clay asks, skeptical even as his nostrils flare.

“I'm sure,” Aaron says, pulling Clay's shirt over his head and pushing Clay backwards until Clay falls back onto the bed. They had both gone two months without each other and more were more than a little touch-starved.

Aaron gets them both undressed in record time as he feels his heat crawling up his spine, fuzzying his brain and blurring the edges of his vision so that all he could focus on was Clay.

Clay and his large Thoroughbred cock that’s always been _so much_ for Aaron. But it’s not the only reason Aaron loves him. Aaron had known that Clay was going to be his one and only alpha from the first time they had met – had even told CM Court that Clay would be the only one he’d accept, and a disappointed look had flitted across CM Court’s face for all of half-a-second before it had been buried, and CM Court had nodded, and said simply: “As you wish.”

Aaron slides down Clay’s body and takes him in hand; he pumps Clay with one hand as he swallows down what he can with his mouth, tonguing the slit as he looks up the expanse of Clay’s body from under his eyelashes – watching this alpha, this _beautiful_ Thoroughbred, come undone under Aaron’s hand and Aaron’s tongue.

It was empowering; more so even than having every alpha and every omega on the team beholden to his every word once the Green Bay faithful filled the stands.

Aaron keeps licking and sucking, even slides a finger, coated in his own slick, into Clay, crooking it and looking for that spot – knowing he finds it when Clay gasps and bucks up, Aaron opening his mouth and relaxing his throat to allow Clay more room to fuck up into his mouth.

But then Clay’s knot was beginning to form, right there in Aaron’s grip around the base of Clay’s dick. Aaron pulls off and scrapes his teeth ever so lightly against the plump bit of flesh – looking back up towards Clay and meeting the alpha’s eyes as he does so.

His voice is raw and broken as he smirks, asks, “Just gonna lay there? _Alpha?_ ”

And, _fuck_ , but Clay is fast. He surges up and forward – because he knows this part, knows exactly what Aaron is asking (demanding) of him – and he tackles Aaron so he lands on his back and grabs him by the hips and flips him roughly so that Aaron was on his stomach. Then Clay is hooking one arm around Aaron’s waist, and lifting just his ass in the air, as his other hand lays flat against Aaron’s spine, keeping his face against the sheets – forcing Aaron to present – before he buries his face between Aaron’s cheeks.

Clay growls as he tongue-fucks his way into Aaron – moving his hand from Aaron’s back to Aaron’s ass, to spread him out for easier access. Then he adds a finger, then two, then three – to work alongside his tongue as he drowns himself in Aaron’s slick.

He goes until Aaron, writhing and sweating and utterly undone, finally demands that Clay fucks him proper. Then Clay brings Aaron upwards as Clay settles against the headboard and he almost wants to do this part gentle, but his knot is three-quarters of the way up and Clay knows he’s not gonna last much longer. Aaron must sense it, too, because as soon as Clay is sitting, Aaron whirls around in Clay’s arms and, with one hand bracing himself on the headboard, and the other holding Clay’s cock still, Aaron lowers himself fully onto Clay.

Clay snarls and throws his head back, banging it against the headboard as he grips Aaron’s hips tightly – looking for an anchor so he doesn’t end this too soon. Because Aaron always feels this good sheathed around Clay – always – but tonight, with both of their scents freed from birth control chemicals, everything is heightened, more vibrant.

Aaron barely gives either of them the chance to adjust before he’s moving. He rolls his hips as he takes Clay inch by inch, until Clay’s knot is pressed against his rim – as he buries his hands in Clay’s hair, curling them into fists as he keeps their foreheads touching – then he starts using his thighs, lifting himself up and down, fucking himself on Clay’s luxurious cock.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” is all he can say as he feels Clay’s knot against his rim and finally slams himself down and over it, accepting the knot into his body. Clay growls at the sensation, a low and reverberating rumble that passes through the both of them.

Clay once again surges forward until Aaron is on his back before he hikes one of Aaron’s legs up over his shoulder as he pushes the other out to the side – then Clay is thrusting hard and fast into Aaron, desperate. Clay looks down between them, watches as Aaron palms himself, his thumb pushing hard against his own slit as if he were trying to stave off his own orgasm.

Clay can’t have that.

Clay leans forward, still fucking hard and fast, knocking those little gasps out of Aaron with every thrust, and he drops his fangs and traces them along the claiming mark he’d left over Aaron’s right collar bone years ago.

“Come for me,” Clay orders. Then he puts his hand over Aaron’s on Aaron’s dick and moves them together. He throws a growl into his voice as he orders again, “Come for me, Aaron.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aaron curses as his back arches up and his body clenches tight around Clay, muscles rippling around Clay and seeming to pull him further inside, until Clay himself loses his rhythm and comes deep inside of Aaron, his knot making sure they stayed tied together as Clay’s seed fills Aaron.

 

 

PART II

“ _He almost took my head off.”_

 

_Week 5_

 

It’s not until Aaron is dry heaving into the toilet for the third time in just as many minutes that he starts second-guessing the decision to carry the pup himself. From the doorway, Clay makes small noises of distress. Aaron just glares at him until Clay scampers away, returning a few moments later with a packet of crackers, presenting them with a soft whimper.

Aaron snarls at him, low and dangerous, until Clay slinks away once more.

The next morning, Clay’s the one flying out of bed, naked, to kneel in front of the toilet. Aaron’s vindictive glee at Clay getting sympathy morning sickness is quickly subverted as his own nausea begins to violently make itself known.

Aaron swings his bare legs over the bed and just barely manages to stagger into the bathroom before falling to his knees beside Clay and bending over the trash can.

“How do the Cooperators deal with this?” Clay asks once he’s able to catch his breath.

Aaron just shakes his head and tries to remember how to breathe – trying not to breathe in through his nose to avoid the acrid stench of his own sick.

Clay’s the first of them to get his legs back under him and he gently lifts Aaron to his feet, supporting most of his weight as he guides him to the sink and the mouthwash. Aaron’s used so much of it in the last few days that just the taste is enough to trigger his gag reflex. When he and Clay have both rinsed their mouths out, Clay slowly maneuvers them both to the bed and they ease their way back under the covers.

Clay picks his phone up off of his nightstand and sends off a few rapid-fire texts – cancelling everything planned for the day as he pulls the duvet up and under their chins, pulling Aaron in close, but keeping his grip loose.

 

-

 

The Packers don’t make the playoffs, but Aaron still sends Brett Hundley a text telling him that he did good given the situation. Hundley responds with a string of emojis.

Aaron had already been ten years old when Cooperator April, who lived just across the street, visits the house with a bright-eyed baby in her arms. Cooperator Anise cooed excitedly and clapped her hands together.

“What a beautiful boy,” she’d said before she’d waved Aaron over and showed him the baby. “It’s hard to believe you were once that small.” She looks up to Cooperator April, asks, “Has he been named yet?”

Cooperator April smiled and nodded, “Brett Hundley. What do you think Aaron? Perhaps the two of you will play together some day.”

“I’d like that,” Aaron said as he grinned and waved at the baby, baby Brett had gargled softly at him and caught his fingers in that tight grip all babies seemed to possess. Aaron was no stranger to babies – Cooperator Anise had one strapped to her chest now in a bjorn, a little girl almost two months old named Tilly.

All children born in the breeding barns were given the best of all things – the best food, clothes, shoes, healthcare, and an education that included as much college as they did, or did not, want. Alphas and omegas were to join either the NFL or the NWFL, depending on their primary gender as either male or female (those who identified as other or both, were assigned by a stock manager to the League they felt the athlete would thrive best in).

Betas did not play. Male betas often became part of the breeding barn’s admin; infertile female betas (and omegas) would become the techs, scientists, and stock managers; and fertile female betas would either join the cooperator herd or be matched with an alpha in the hopes of producing a Thoroughbred

Those who joined the cooperators went through an extensive training program covering nutrition and exercise regimens, protocol for dealing with any wayward media curious about the pups they were carrying, and responsibilities for those said pups as well as for maintaining the health of said pups and themselves.

Upon graduation of the program, the women earned the title of _Cooperator_ and were eligible to begin carrying; those who failed out were given opportunities elsewhere, and if they failed at those, too, they were simply given a severance check and sent on their way (this also applied to cooperators who failed to properly care for the pups they were responsible for).

Cooperators lived on the property of the team they worked for, usually in a sprawling neighborhood amongst each other – at the center of which were playgrounds and parks and pools, gathering places for the cooperators to introduce new pups to each other.

All cooperators were guaranteed six months with each pup they birthed – usually this was so they could nurse and, if the sire and dam were to take the child into their own home, to say goodbye. After those six months, a cooperator was granted another twelve in order to recover – and it was only during that recovery time that a cooperator was allowed to consume alcohol.

Aaron remembers Cooperator Anise coming home from SM Court’s office (four months after meeting Brett), having just surrendered Tilly to her sire and dam, and watching as she sat a large case of beer on the table – no doubt a gift from Tilly’s dam, as was custom – before filling the sink with ice. She put the beers into the ice carefully, one-by-one, as if counting them.

In that moment, Aaron, who had watched this same scene play out at least three times that he can remember, felt an almost overwhelming urge to walk up to her, throw his arms around her middle, and call her _mama_. If just to get that pinched look off her face. But if she’s told him once, she’s told him a thousand times:

“I’m not your mother, Aaron,” she’d say, calm but with a hint of urgency, “never call me that. I love you, _yes_ , so very much; but, I am not your mother. I am Cooperator Anise – I’ve worked hard for that title, so please call me by it.”

So, Aaron never calls her mama, but always Cooperator Anise, and that day, as she’s packing beer into the ice, Aaron still walked over to her and threw his arms around her middle and buried his face in her back and squeezed her tight. Then she turned in his arms and hugged him back just as tightly, as if afraid to ever let go.

Cooperator Anise’s recovery year passed, but SM Court told her that there’s no one to carry for and that, for now, she was free to simply look after Aaron or start work on her master’s degree – expanding on her bachelor’s in early childhood development and pediatric medicine. Cooperator Anise chose the latter and Aaron, when not in school himself, spent more and more time with Cooperator April, helping her care for her rapidly growing baby.

“It’s nice,” Cooperator April said, lifting the pup into the air, laughing as he laughed, “I know that neither his sire nor his dam will ask for him, so I know that he’ll be staying with me.”

Aaron grinned, too, happy to know that he’d have Brett as a constant – siblings came and went, and it was always nice when one stayed.

Even as he got older, he thought of it as _staying_ , not as sires and dams abandoning their pups – a word he’d heard from the outside world once he’s started leaving the farm, or from the other kids in school who lived with their _real_ sires and dams – because he’d seen firsthand just how happy a cooperator gets when she’s asked if she’ll raise the pup; if the answer is no, the pup is given to another cooperator.

Aaron always made it a point to visit Brett and Cooperator April – even as he’s being groomed to replace Brett Favre at quarterback (he doesn’t know Favre yet beyond his stats and that he had allowed his pup, Aaron’s pseudo-little brother, to share his first name; and when Aaron does finally move into the League and suffers more than once Favre’s wrath for practicing _just a little too hard_ , “Brett” becomes “Hundley” just to put more distance between the two figures in Aaron’s mind).

In the present, Aaron glares at Hundley’s next message: _Getting fat yet?_

 _No_ , Aaron replies, sending a picture of his flat torso and middle finger lifted in a rude gesture. _And you shouldn’t be so rude to your elders_.

Hundley just sends him more emojis.

They keep texting – Aaron asks after Cooperator April: her bone cancer was in remission and the doctors all agreed that she still had a long life ahead of her; and Hundley asks after Cooperator Anise: still running the pediatric ward at the farm hospital and absolutely could not wait to be the first person Aaron would call the first time his pup sneezed too hard.

 _I told her that just because she said that I’m going to be calling Clay’s mother instead_ , Aaron texts.

 _You’re a horrible liar, brother_ , Hundley sends.

Aaron laughs, because they both knew, long before Aaron had decided to get pregnant, that Cooperator Anise would always be Aaron’s first call.

 

_Week 10_

 

A few weeks later, when a bump begins to form low in Aaron’s stomach, Aaron takes a picture of it and sends it to Hundley, _Getting fat_ _:(_.

Hundley immediately responds with _:D_ and it’s all of twelve minutes before he’s pounding on the front door – startling Clay from his afternoon catnap. Aaron waves the alpha back down onto the couch without looking, his eyes pointed out of his large window to see Hundley waving excitedly – he’s barefoot and his phone is clenched tightly in his hand.

When Aaron pulls open the door, Hundley jumps into his arms – laughing excitedly.

“Did you run here all the way from the cooperators’ neighborhood?” Aaron asks, automatically wrapping his arms around Hundley as he takes in his fellow omega’s excited scent and rapid breathing.

Hundley pulls back, still grinning wide as he says, “Dude, it’s like it’s real. Like, _really_ real.”

“Trust me,” Aaron says, closing the door behind Hundley but still keeping one arm around Hundley’s shoulders, “it’s been _really_ real ever since I’ve started throwing up every morning. Even Clay’s been getting sick.”

“Yeah, it horrible,” Clay says, sitting up on the couch with a lazy yawn.

“That’s kinda cute in a really sucky way,” Hundley says, patting Aaron on the back. Hundley has an inch on Aaron these days, but whenever they’re close together like this, he still seems to shrink in on himself as if forgetting that he’s caught up with Aaron’s height, that Aaron’s not towering over him just to pick him up and put him on his shoulders.

“What’re you up to anyway?” Clay asks.

“Aaron sent me a pic of his baby bump,” Hundley answers. “I just got excited and ran over here from Cooperator April’s.”

Hundley, since his official signing day, has had a home assigned to him in the athlete’s neighborhood – it was actually only two houses down from Aaron’s, with Jordy Nelson and Randall Cobb living in the houses between them. Hundley, however, was rarely in the home – opting instead to spend most of his days with the cooperator who had given birth to and subsequently raised him. After Cooperator April’s diagnosis, Hundley had increased the time he spent with her exponentially – leaving her side only for practice, tape sessions, and games.

“I’m glad to hear that she’s been doing better,” Clay says to Hundley as he stands. He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to the side of Aaron’s cheek before he adds, “I’ll go make us some lunch. How does spaghetti sound?”

Aaron makes a face.

“Chicken alfredo?”

Aaron wrinkles his nose.

“Ham and cheese? Again?”

Aaron smiles wide.

Clay sighs and kisses Aaron again before he heads towards the kitchen, tossing over his shoulder, “Stay for a bit, Hundley, you’ll get some, too.”

“Thanks,” Hundley calls out.

Hundley stays through lunch, sharing with Clay some of the stories from his and Aaron’s childhood.

Like the time Aaron had flown in from California to help Hundley deal with a pair of alpha bullies. The bullies had thought that just because they had Lambeau in their pedigree that they were entitled to any omega they came across, never mind that half of the kids in class hadn’t even presented yet.

But Hundley had, and not even his first name had been enough to protect him – not when everyone knew who lived with the Cooperators and who lived with their sire and/or dams (those who fell into the latter category tried to lord it over everyone else, but if an adult ever overheard – they were quickly reprimanded and reminded that Cooperators were special, they were the reason the program could continue).

According to Hundley, Aaron had shown up with a bodyguard detail of six of the biggest, baddest alphas—

“It was two guys,” Aaron interjects, looking up at the ceiling. “And they _might_ have weighed 200 pounds on a good day.”

—and they all pick Hundley up from school in a limo—

“It was a Volvo station wagon.”

—with Aaron standing outside of it and one alpha holding an umbrella to keep the sun off his face, and the other standing around and looking menacing.

“Where are you even—”

Except that Hundley’s bullies have followed him outside and they take turns picking at Hundley’s shirt and harassing him about how sweet he smells. And they don’t see Aaron or his alphas until Aaron’s dropped fang and snarled, the alphas flanking him then surge forward and _roar_.

“Okay, that part’s true.”

And the bullies may or may not have pissed themselves, but it is definitely true that no one bothers Hundley after that day.

Clay blinks as he looks between Aaron and Hundley, at a loss for words. Finally, he settles his eyes on Aaron and says, “I can’t believe you brought two football player alphas to intimidate a pair of tweens who’ve only just popped their first knot.”

“In retrospect,” Aaron concedes, “it was probably a bad decision. But, hey, it worked. They didn’t mess with Hundley after that.”

Clay snorts out a laugh before he draws Aaron in close, pressing a kiss to his temple. Then he asks, “Are you going to get a bunch of the guys together if someone starts teasing our pup?”

Aaron doesn’t hesitate as he says, “No, I’ll handle it myself.”

Then he and Clay meet each other’s eyes and begin to chuckle into each other’s space.

“Not if I get there first,” Hundley says as he stands and starts for the front door. “No one’s gonna bother any niece or nephew of mine.”

Aaron stands to see Hundley the rest of the way to the door. “Of course not,” he says, embracing Hundley before the omega walks out and closes the door behind him.

No one ever really talks about their future at the breeding barn. Those that are born here, raised here, are always guaranteed a place to call home. Those who are purchased have to earn it.  The point is that even though Hundley may not make the largest impact on the team or the League, but it was with the names he had in his pedigree that Aaron knew meant Hundley would always have a home on the Green Bay farm. And that little fact thrills Aaron.

 

_Week 11_

 

Aaron’s baby bump is only a little more pronounced as he watches Matthew Stafford and the Lions lift the Lombardi trophy.

He forces himself to stand and leave the room, so Clay doesn’t see the tears forming in his eyes – _fucking_ hormones – and steps into the kitchen to find himself something to eat. Except that, as soon as he opens the refrigerator door, he completely forgets what it was he was thinking about snacking on and just finds himself staring at the half-carton of milk.

He jerks himself out of it and slams the door closed, snarling at the contents (and himself). He’s about to walk out of the kitchen when he turns back on his heel, opens the refrigerator again, and pulls out a Gatorade before making his way back to the living room, pretending the sports drink was what he’d been after the whole time.

As he settles himself back on the couch – watching the post-game interviews, Clay stretches himself over the couch and curls around Aaron until Aaron rolls his eyes and opens his body, setting his Gatorade on the coffee table, so that Clay is happily nestled between Aaron’s legs, his face buried in Aaron’s neck, and his arms wrapped around Aaron’s torso.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron says, his lips moving against Clay’s hair.

Clay just rumbles at him; the vibrations of the deep-chested noise shake through both of them and Aaron feels his cock twitch in interest. And his scent must betray him because Clay does it again, tightening his arms around Aaron as he begins pressing soft kisses to Aaron’s neck.

Aaron groans and bucks his hips up just the slightest bit – just enough to urge Clay onward.

Clay answers with another deep-chested rumble as one hand slides between them, nimble fingers expertly working off both of their jeans before taking both of them in hand. He jerks them both slowly, taking his time with it, until Aaron is sweating and thrusting and begging, their foreheads pressed together as they breathe in sync.

Then Clay is pulling back and away from Aaron and Aaron has only just enough time to whine pitifully at Clay before Clay has his mouth on him, swallowing him down – tonguing at Aaron’s slit and sucking, his hand gently messaging Aaron’s sack – and it’s all too much and not enough.

Aaron grabs a fistful of Clay’s hair and drags the alpha back upwards, pressing a hot and fervent kiss to his lips, tasting himself on Clay’s tongue, before pulling back just enough to snarl, “Take my fucking jeans off.”

Clay is quick to comply. Then he’s positioning himself right back between Aaron’s legs, his hand going down to play with Aaron’s hole. He slides one finger in, then two – finding Aaron ready for him.

It’s slow and gentle and when Clay’s knot slips past Aaron’s rim, Aaron’s eyes fly open.

“The _couch_ ,” he whispers.

Clay glances down between them, at Aaron’s slick and Clay’s pre-cum. “Uh, I think it’s already a lost cause.”

“Damn—”

Clay cuts Aaron off with a thrust, speeding up the pace until Aaron forgets about the couch. Which doesn’t last nearly as long as Aaron pretends; instead he settles for, as he’s standing after they’ve untied and he’s grabbing his jeans, just looking sadly at the couch and _tsk_ -ing and shaking his head.

Clay, whose watching his own cum dribble down Aaron’s inner thigh, says, “Just throw a blanket over it, it’ll be fine.”

Aaron stares, jaw dropped to the floor.

Clay finally meets his eyes and shrugs, slouching further into the couch as he wraps an arm around Aaron’s waist and pulls him back down onto Clay’s lap – Aaron laughing as Clay drops fang and nips his shoulder and neck and chest gently, playfully.

 

_Week 12_

 

Aaron stares at the monitor, only just making out the shapes the doctor was pointing out.

Twins.

Aaron had been concerned because he was gaining far more weight than what had been projected for him. And, oh, okay. Yeah. That was why.

 _Twins_.

Clay, of course, is inordinately proud of himself. Aaron would correct him, tell him that Clay had nothing to do with it, that it was Aaron's body that had decided to go whole hog on this pregnancy – but he lets it go (for now) and just enjoys the sight of Clay grinning wide and carefree at him.

 

-

 

Aaron’s obstetrician is an older beta, named Dr. Emma Howard. She’s gentle with Aaron as she tells him what symptoms he should be expecting as he progresses through his pregnancy as well as the various tests they’ll be doing to ensure the pups were developing normally.

She tells him that since he’s carrying twins, his symptoms may be more severe and that he may deliver a little earlier.

“We typically see twins drop around week 36 or 37,” she tells him. “But if anything happens earlier, or if you just _think_ you’re having contractions or that something might wrong – don’t hesitate to give me a call and we can figure it out together.”

Aaron grins and nods his head, shaking Dr. Howard’s hand as he stands, her dark skin contrasting starkly against his. He thanks her for her time and promises to call if he has any questions. He doesn’t tell her that he’ll only be calling if Cooperator Anise doesn’t have an answer for him.

 

_Week 15_

 

Cooperator April’s cancer comes back suddenly and with a vengeance and there's no time for anyone to prepare themselves.

Aaron's fitted for a new suit to accommodate his growing stomach and tries not to cry each time he thinks about what it'll be worn for. Clay's constant presence and soothing rumbling help to keep him distracted.

At their home, Hundley is curled up in one of the guest bedrooms. He hadn't moved for days – not since Aaron had brought him home from the hospital and tucked him in and told him that he'd see to everything.

“I should—”

“—rest,” Aaron said, cutting him off. Hundley hadn't left Cooperator April’s side for the two weeks it had taken for the cancer to reclaim her.

One week later and Aaron is pulling on his new suit as Clay shuffles Hundley first into the shower, then into the kitchen, where he forces a protein shake down Hundley’s throat.

Having Hundley in the house, weak and lethargic in his grief, has woken Clay's paternal instincts. He can't seem to help himself as he fusses over Hundley; Aaron finds it all ridiculously endearing despite the circumstance.

The Cooperators are given priority seating, as they always are, with the exception of the front row: where sit the many pups, now all grown, that had been carried by Cooperator April. Hundley is one of her youngest, one of her last carried, and so he sits towards the far right. He was the only one she'd raised, and so he's the one who'll deliver her eulogy.

Aaron and Clay sit in the back, with the rest of the athletes; some are on the current roster and have come to support Hundley, others were on rosters past and were here out of deference to the beta who had birthed dear friends or their own pups. Aaron’s not surprised when Brett Favre never shows.

Hundley gets up to deliver his eulogy and once at the pulpit, he looks so, so young. Like the gaunt pre-teen who used to meet Aaron at the airport whenever Aaron could find the time to fly home – one of those times, Hundley’s eye had been black from an alpha’s fist and Aaron had seen red as he called in teammates from California.

But, today, Hundley’s voice is strong and loud, his words ringing clear as they travel over the large crowd gathered in the church. The eulogy itself is short, but poignant as he talks about growing up among the cooperators, admiring their strength and casual elegance, and thanking them for making him the person he is today. He talks about Cooperator April’s laughter, how she’d always been so free with it, how selfless she was with her closest friends, how undaunted she’d been as she stared down the cancer that had ultimately taken her.

Hundley’s words resonate with Aaron and he feels his eyes being drawn inexplicably to Cooperator Anise (she had a PhD, yes, but on the farm, _Cooperator Anise_ held more weight than _Dr. Rodgers_ ; besides, to Aaron she would always be _Cooperator Anise_ – it had been as close to _mama_ as he'd ever been allowed).

After the funeral, Cooperator Anise comes over to their house for dinner. She holds Hundley’s hand, wheezing with laughter as she shares stories of her and April when they were young and still going through their training together. She shares how much they loved each other, how they helped each other with their more difficult pregnancies and miscarriages and surrenders.

“When SM Court told me that I'd been assigned to Dickey’s pup,” she glances at Aaron, “I was scared that it would change things between us. It's a lot of responsibility and takes up more of your personal time – we wouldn't have as much time with each other. But,” she huffs a soft laugh, “I should’ve known better. If anything, I think we were closer than ever. Then she got you,” she squeezes Hundley’s hand. “Of all her pups, you've always been her favorite. She always counted herself lucky your sire was an asshole.”

And the comment – the curse word – it was so unexpected that it startles a booming laugh from everyone at the table.

With as highly respected and regarded as the cooperators were, it was against social protocol to speak negatively about an athlete – especially one who had had such an impact.  But if any cooperator could get away with it, it'd be Cooperator Anise. And it wasn't like any of the gathered were going to correct her.

 

_Week 16_

 

Aaron hurls his phone at the wall, whirling on Clay and gnashing his teeth when the alpha tries to come in close to soothe him.

“Aaron—” Clay starts, his hands up, palms facing outward, but he’s cut off when Aaron snarls at him, low and dangerous, fangs dropped and bared. Clay whimpers in the back of his throat, hurt.

Aaron ignores the sound and snarls again, advancing on Clay until Clay is hurriedly backing out of the living room, then out of the house – quickly closing the front door between them. He puts his forehead against the wood and tries to hold in his sigh of relief.

Then he steps back and jogs over to the house next to them – and starts knocking. Randall Cobb would know what to do.

Randall laughs in his face.

“It’s not funny,” Clay snaps.

“Look,” Randall starts, leaning heavily against his door and smelling faintly like beer; he chuckles, “I don’t know what to tell you, man.” The grin on Randall’s face slips away as he glances at the house to the right – the second house down from Clay’s and Aaron’s. “He and Aaron are close. Of course Aaron is going to take it hard.”

“ _He almost took my head off_ ,” Clay says, enunciating each word because he’s not sure Randall is appreciating just how dire the situation is.

Randall waves a hand at Clay. “It’s the hormones,” he says. When he sees the incredulous look still on Clay’s face, Randall sighs heavily. “Man, I know you’re an alpha – and a Thoroughbred, at that – but have you spent _any_ time around some who’s pregnant?”

Clay wracks his brain and comes up with nothing. Randall must read the answer on his face because he’s rolling his eyes.

“Jordy’s not leaving the farm anytime soon,” Randall says, eventually taking pity on Clay. “I’ll bring him over to y’all’s house tonight for dinner. Now go back home and let Aaron throw shit at you. It’ll make him feel better.”

Clay growls and runs his fingers through his hair before he points at Randall. “Fine, but if I die, it’ll be your fault.”

Randall snorts. “As if you’d die before seeing those pups of yours.”

Clay purses his lips before he jogs back over to his own house and quietly slips back in. He finds Aaron on their recently purchased couch, glaring hard at the tv and the talking heads. Without turning around, Aaron says: “I’m sorry I threw my phone at you.”

Clay comes over to the couch and leans down to kiss Aaron’s temple.

“Randy and Jordy are coming over for dinner tonight,” Clay says. “Okay?”

Aaron turns his head to nuzzle Clay, his eyes slipping closed as he nods, “Yeah, okay.”

“Anything in particular you want for dinner?”

“Ice cream,” Aaron answers right away, not quite able to keep the pout of his voice.

“Sounds good,” Clay says, pressing a kiss to Aaron’s forehead.

That night, when Jordy and Randall come over, Aaron pulls Jordy into a hug and doesn’t let go. Jordy, burying his face in Aaron’s neck, doesn’t let go, either.

 

-

 

Aaron pokes at his chest; his pectorals aching even though he’s among the small percentage of male omegas who can’t lactate. SM Court tells him that there’s always a wet nurse on staff, so he wouldn’t have to worry about nursing. Aaron had looked away from his phone, couldn’t bring himself to share with SM Court that he’d wanted to nurse his pups himself. Instead, he just sends a thumbs-up emoji and drops the topic.

Before he can start thinking about it too hard and work himself up into a good sulk, Clay is holding out a football.

“C’mon,” he says, jerking his head towards their front yard, “let’s see if you still know how to throw this thing.”

Aaron takes the ball and lets Clay pull him off the couch. He quirks a grin and gives Clay a side-eye when he asks, “And how do I know your natural instinct to tackle anyone with a ball won’t kick in?”

Clay just waggles his eyebrows in response.

Outside, they’re tossing the ball between them, getting Aaron the light exercise that he needs, before one-by-one, their teammates begin flocking around them – the alphas staying a respectful distance away from Aaron.

Next thing either of them know, HaHa Clinton-Dix and Mason Crosby have pulled their grills from their garages, Davante Adams and Ty Montgomery have started the music, and Mike Daniels and his three pups have pulled out various yard games. The impromptu block party lasts long into the night, lit by the street lights and the full moon.

 

_Week 18_

 

Aaron stares at his ultrasound picture, pinned to the refrigerator along with the others. He rubs his stomach and feels himself smiling.

Both twins are boys – one of them was to be named Clay IV; the other, they hadn’t quite decided yet though Aaron was leaning towards one of the names from his own pedigree – maybe Bart or Earl or Lynn, all of them big names the pup would have to grow into.

Clay walks into the kitchen then and, after seeing what Aaron’s looking at, can’t help but smile himself. Clay walks up behind Aaron, presses a gentle kiss to the claiming mark that sits low on Aaron’s neck as he wraps his arms around Aaron’s middle – feeling the movement of their pups inside.

Clay puts his nose to the back of Aaron’s neck – breathes in his muted scent before nipping lightly.

Aaron smirks and takes Clay’s hand, leading him to the bedroom.

 

_Week 23_

 

Aaron jerks awake – after having _just_ fallen asleep, god _dammit_ – with contractions. He pushes away the fear that suddenly spikes through him when he realizes that they’re no where near as intense as both Cooperator Anise and Dr. Howard had told him they would be, and were instead, the Braxton Hicks contractions – _practice_ contractions for his body.

“Alright?” Clay asks, the one word slurred with sleep as he opens his eyes.

“Fake contractions,” Aaron growls as he lowers himself back onto the bed. Clay echoes the growl as he pulls Aaron against him, Aaron’s back to Clay’s chest, as if hoping that if he just wrapped himself around Aaron, he could chase away all of Aaron’s physical woes. And, for the most part, Clay succeeds.

Except tonight.

Aaron is just slipping back under when he feels another contraction and, growling, gently slips away from Clay and out of bed. Clay groans and opens his eyes.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Aaron promises, leaning over and giving Clay a quick kiss on the lips before straightening up. Aaron empties his bladder before he starts walking around the house, murmuring at nothing in particular.

Once the contractions seem to ease, and Aaron is no longer able to keep his eyes open to prevent himself from running into a wall, he slides back into bed – Clay not even waking fully as he gathers Aaron in close.

 

_Week 24_

 

Even before finding out that they were going to be having boys, it had long since been decided that the nursery was going to be done in green and gold.

It’s easy picking out furniture with Clay, mostly because Clay’s opinions match Aaron’s. At first Aaron had thought it was just because the alpha was agreeing with whatever Aaron had suggested, but he quickly finds out – as Clay recites statistics and specifications of different models of cribs, strollers, and car seats, and comparing them – that was just as invested in this process as Aaron was. Impossibly, it makes Aaron love him even more.

Randall and Hundley are always over to help Clay put together the cribs, the changing table, and shelves, and to help move things around the nursery until both Clay and Aaron are satisfied. Aaron insists that he can still move stuff around, but one look from Clay tells him that he’ll be doing no such thing.

In fact, they’re arguing about whether or not Aaron should even be allowed to drive down to the store to pick up something for them to eat while Randall finishes setting up the mobile above the crib, from which hung footballs and Green Bay helmets, when there’s a knock at the front door. Hundley rushes to see who it is.

Aaron is in the middle of telling Clay that he is still perfectly capable of driving, thank you very much, when Hundley walks back into the room with Cooperator Anise.

“You may be capable, but why go through the fuss?” she asks with a wink. She jerks her head at Clay, adds, “Let _him_ fuss about everything.” When she spots Randall, she gives him a wave and he waves back.

Aaron rolls his eyes at her suggestion even as he bends over to give her a hug. He pulls back and asks, “What brings you over?”

“A present,” Cooperator Anise says, turning and walking out of the nursery, waving for the others to follow her.

The present is an old rocking chair from Cooperator Anise’s own nursery – the same one she’d sat in when through all of her time as a full-duty cooperator. She had rocked Aaron himself in this very chair. At the sight of it, Aaron is flooded with memories of watching Cooperator Anise in the chair, nursing and cooing and singing gently to whoever’s pup was in her arms.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course,” Cooperator Anise answers, smiling gently at Aaron.

When Aaron hugs her again, they both pretend that he’s not leaving small wet spots on her shoulder.

 

_Week 28_

 

Aaron’s not even entirely sure what Clay said, he just knows that he’s laughing way too hard and he has to pee and he’s not gonna make it because he’s _still laughing_.

Clay, completely unfazed by what’s just happened, just helps Aaron out of his clothes and into the shower – where he washes them both down before he (gently) pushes Aaron against the wall and tongue-fucks him long and slow, jerking Aaron in the same rhythm as Clay’s tongue.

The next day, they go out and buy a new couch.

 

_Week 31_

 

Aaron is far too sleep-deprived to deal with this.

He blinks at Randall.

“You won’t have to do anything,” Randall says, making an _obviously_ gesture with his hand. “Davante and I will take care of everything.”

“If it makes you happy,” Aaron says eventually, leaning into the cushions of the couch and falling just the slightest bit sideways to snuggle in closer to Clay. He doesn’t see the way Randall fist pumps as he shares a wide grin with Davante before the two of them head out to get started on the preparations.

 

-

 

It takes a suspiciously less amount of time than Aaron would think for Randall and Davante to plan the baby shower. Randall is hosting it at his house to make it easier to cart gifts over to Aaron’s; taking only two days for him to order the food and put up decorations.

“How long have you two been working on this?” Aaron asks, going for casual but missing as he looks between his two receivers.

Randall coughs into his hand and looks away; Davante, completely unabashed, says, “As soon as you announced that you’d be taking your breeding year. Jordy helped, too, but—.” Davante shrugs, lets the sentence trail off as he shares a sad look with Randall and Aaron.

Aaron smiles briefly before he pulls the other two omegas into tight hugs.

“Thanks, guys,” he says.

 

-

 

The team floods Aaron and Clay with diapers and onesies and diapers and toys and diapers and baby towels and so. Many. Diapers.

“Trust me,” Cooperator Anise says, gesturing with her bottle of water at the haphazard pile of diapers, “you’re going to need every single one of those.”

Clay looks skeptical; but Aaron’s been around newborns before and he shudders as he thinks about what’s ahead.

“There’s going to be so much poop,” Aaron says with a resigned sigh.

Cooperator Anise smirks. “Yes, there is.”

 

_Week 34_

 

Dr. Howard confirms Aaron’s birth plans – a C-section, Aaron will be awake – as she preps him for another ultrasound. This one would be in 4D and give Aaron and Clay an early peek at their pups’ faces.

It was surreal, watching as the image popped up of the pup sitting the furthest up in Aaron’s stomach. No one in the room can suppress a chuckle as the pup yawns before punching up at the wand pressing in on his face.

“Wonder where he gets that from,” Aaron mutters lightly, smirking.

Clay echoes the laugh even as he brings Aaron’s hand up and playfully nips the inside of his wrist. Aaron laughs, but diverts his attention when the image of the second pup comes up on the screen.

The second pup is playing with his foot – kicking it out before grabbing it again.

“Oh my god,” Aaron says, “our pup is gonna be a placekicker.”

Clay and Dr. Howard both laugh.

 

-

 

Aaron looks down at the ultrasound pictures, running his fingers over the little faces, and feels himself swell with pride.

He’s carried on the legacy of Curly and Starr and Dickey. He’s made his contribution and done right by the organization that took care of him, raised him. He’s already gotten them to the one Super Bowl, and he has little doubt that he can get them there again, but this – these two pups, sired by a third generation alpha, a Thoroughbred, because Aaron had told SM Court that he’d accept nothing less in his alpha – they were Aaron’s physical investment in the future, not necessarily his own, but Green Bay’s.

And he sees, in that moment, how it is that some sires/dams could leave their pups behind. The pups weren’t theirs, Aaron and Clay’s pups weren’t theirs. The pups belonged with Green Bay.

They were going to grow up in Clay’s and Aaron’s house (first in the athlete neighborhood, then, after retirement, in the retiree’s neighborhood, which sat at the far northeastern edge of the farm, just along the beach of, well, Green Bay, the bay itself connected to Lake Michigan) and go to school on the farm (probably starting football while they were in high school, during which they would receive a list of approved schools who had shown interest).

Aaron sets the ultrasound pictures down and pushes away any melancholy thought trying to settle in his head. If growing up on the Green Bay farm had been good enough for Aaron – and it had, the proof was in the Super Bowl ring, MVP awards and Pro Bowl nominations, as well as his records for not just the Packers, but also the League as a whole – it’d be good enough for his pups.

 

_Week 36_

 

Aaron is harassing Hundley via text when his water breaks.

He’s torn between excitement and exasperation because now he and Clay need to buy _another_ couch. Speaking of—

“Clay,” Aaron calls out.

Clay pokes his head out of the kitchen, says, “Sandwiches are almost—” and he stops, suddenly picking up on the scent of the amniotic fluid.

“Clay, we’re going to need a new couch,” Aaron says, easing himself up. “Also,” he points at the door, “a hospital.”

Clay absolutely does not panic as he grabs a go-bag filled with changes of clothes and phone chargers with one hand and helps Aaron into the truck with the other. Aaron does the breathing exercises he learned from the birthing classes as he sends a mass text to Hundley, Cooperator Anise, SM Court, and Dr. Howard telling them that his water definitely just broke and the contractions are starting and that he and Clay were on their way to the hospital.

The hospital was situated between the athlete and cooperator neighborhoods, at the very center of the Green Bay farm – making it quick and easy to get to, something Aaron has never been so thankful for as his contractions rapidly intensify until he’s throwing his head back, screaming.

“Didn’t think this was supposed to happen this quick,” Aaron says through gritted teeth as Clay parks at the front of the hospital, in one of the spots reserved for pregnant- or about-to-deliver athletes/cooperators.

“Let’s face it, Aaron,” Clay says, opening Aaron’s door and smiling at him as he unbuckles Aaron’s seatbelt, “you’ve never done anything halfway before. Why start now?”

Aaron opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by another contraction. Clay moves in quick, then, using the time between Aaron’s contractions to get him into the hospital, where Dr. Howard was just coming into the waiting room, two beta nurses at her heels, one of which was pushing a wheel chair.

Dr. Howard and Clay ease Aaron into the chair just before he’s swallowing down another scream.

 Aaron is immediately wheeled into surgery and prepped for his C-section while Clay is told to wash up and don a blue cap, gown, and gloves. The time it takes Clay to prepare is time spent away from Aaron’s side – and with the pain of the contractions starting to fray his every nerve, Aaron feels a keening begin low in his throat.

But then Dr. Howard is there, and she talking to him, asking him to be patient because Clay will be _right_ back.

“Don’t Call for him, okay?” she’s asking and Aaron’s trying to follow but he also can’t quite catch his breath and when the _fuck_ were these painkillers supposed to kick and _why_ was this all moving so much faster than it was supposed to? Dr. Howard had told him that it’d take hours; Cooperator Anise had said that all her pregnancies had been relatively quick, but she’d always burned up time at home after her contractions started. Dr. Howard was still talking. “—you Call for him, and with him being a Thoroughbred, we might not be able to calm him down; so please, just stick with us a little longer, okay?”

Aaron’s trying to tell her that he understands, trying to talk through a pain that far worse than ten collarbone breaks or a blown calf muscle, but before he can get the words out – Clay’s back again.

It gets blurry after that as he loses himself in the pain and Clay’s voice breaking over him in a constant wave of praise and gentle commands to _breathe, Aaron, c’mon; breathe_. Then Clay is interrupted by the sound of a pup’s wail.

 

 

PART III

“If you break our streak with this couch, Clay—”

 

Aaron crosses his arms over his chest.

Clay puts a hand over the bottom half of his face so, Aaron presumes, the alpha can hide his smile.

Which is bullshit because this is hardly something to laugh about.

“You wanna try that story again?” Aaron asks. “Without lying this time, if you please.”

Curly looks sideways at his brother, his lips pursing and moving side to side – making him wince as he pulls on the split skin. Clay IV, doesn’t look nearly as abashed, even with a steak covering half of the left side of his face.

Boys.

“You’re always telling us to stand up for others,” Clay IV says. “So why are you mad that we did?”

Clay, who is supposed to be a supportive and loving husband, snickers. _Out loud_.

Aaron sighs.

“Because, _Clay_ ,” Aaron uses the extra emphasis to look at both his pup and his alpha, “just because someone calls another kid at the playground a bad name, it doesn’t give you the right to chase them down with rocks. You should have gone to a teacher.”

Curly looks up then, says, “But it was a _teacher_ who said it.”

“Wait, what?” Aaron says, glancing at Clay because he’s obviously missing something here.

Clay, still unable to quite keep the smile off his face, turns to Aaron. “Do you remember Mrs. Oakbrook?”

Aaron nods; the teacher was a foul-mannered omega who was only able to live on the farm because she, too, had Bart Starr in her pedigree, making her Aaron’s distant cousin. There had always been something her that Aaron hadn’t liked, even when he had had her for his science classes throughout middle school – maybe it had been the way she favored the students who lived with their sires/dams and looking down at the ones who lived with their cooperators. It didn’t matter the bloodline.

Aaron didn’t know why she thought so highly of herself – yeah, she may have been raised by her sire, but she had only played two games in the NWFL before she was sent back to the farm, and none of her offspring, three of whom were the most spoiled brats Aaron had ever gone to school with, had amounted to much either. None of them had even made it into either the NFL or the NWFL.

“Well, she called one of Randall’s pups,” Clay lowers his voice dramatically, “ _a very bad name_ and the boys here, who were supposed to be outside—”

“We were coming back for Junior,” Clay IV interrupts sullenly.

“—and _they_ overheard. And that’s when they charged the classroom and tore everything up – the damage was really impressive actually. Some of the kids who were playing by the window heard the noise and rushed to Mrs. Oakbrook’s defense,” Clay then smirks down at the boys and ruffles both of their blond heads, “they took care of them, too.”

Aaron’s mouth hangs open.

He moves his hands to his waist and shifts his weight to one leg, turning his body to more fully face Clay.

“Did you just say it was Junior?” Aaron asks, straightening. Clay nods. “Well that’s stupid because Randy’s not even on the farm and it’s not like he’s just dropped the pup – he visits and calls and—” Aaron cuts himself off as he feels his anger rising. He turns back to the boys. “Look, why don’t you two go and get yourselves washed up for dinner. Clay, put that steak in a bag and put it in the refrigerator; it’s been on your face, its going in your stomach.” Then Aaron is turning on his heels and walking towards the front door.

“Where’re you going?” Clay asks.

“Just a quick walk,” Aaron calls over his shoulder, even as he grabs his car keys.

 

-

 

Whatever Aaron’s “quick walk” entailed, he’s back by the time Clay is plating steaks and Curly and Clay IV are sitting at the table, not-so-subtly flicking peas at each other. As soon as they spot Aaron, though, they stop, quickly and as nonchalantly as possible setting their spoons back down on the table.

Aaron accepts a plate and a quick kiss from Clay before he takes his spot on one of the table, as Clay takes the other.

As they all begin eating, Clay is cutting into his steak as he eyes Aaron and asks, “How was your walk?”

Aaron smirks, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and replies, “Productive.”

Clay lifts an eyebrow, but Aaron just turns his attention back to his food – the boys looking between them expectantly, waiting for them to explain. Aaron just smiles at them and adds nothing else.

 

-

 

“What’d you do?” Clay asks, leaning over Aaron on the couch.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks, turning over onto his stomach and closing his eyes, feigning a yawn as he hugs a pillow underneath his head.

“ _Aaron_ ,” Clay growls, the rumble reverberating through them as Clay moves one of his hands to Aaron’s waist, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“You’re gonna wake the boys up,” Aaron warns as Clay’s fingers move from his waistband to his front, working at the buttons.

“Guess you should tell me what you did then,” Clay retorts, nipping at the back of Aaron’s neck and at the claiming mark and growling as he palms Aaron over his underwear – making Aaron gasp and buck his hips down into Clay’s hand, then up against Clay’s own cock before Clay settles his weight fully along Aaron’s body and pinning him place. Clay bites down harder on the back of Aaron’s neck – Aaron shivers.

“Let’s just say,” Aaron finally concedes, grinding his hips up against Clay as he looks over his shoulder, “the boys no longer have to worry about Mrs.- _fucking_ -Oakbrook, who is now happily retired and planning to move off the farm – not to call any more little children _‘the abandoned’_.”

Clay growls again and turns Aaron face to kiss him properly as his hands work on pushing Aaron’s jeans down.

Aaron stills his hands. “If you break our streak with this couch, Clay—” Clay smirks because he can see the light glinting in Aaron’s eyes and he’s known Aaron long enough now to tell when Aaron is _daring_ him to do something. So, Clay cuts Aaron off with another kiss as he hooks an arm around Aaron’s waist and lifts him up.

“Gotta be quiet,” Clay warns Aaron, nosing at Aaron’s hair as he begins fingering Aaron open, “don’t want to wake the pups.”

Aaron chokes off a gasp, then a whine as Clay removes his fingers and slides in slow – so big; the length of him filling and stretching Aaron in all the right ways. Aaron loves them like this, when Clay takes his time and drags it out – something that’s become rarer and rarer over the past six years after the twins were born.

Those six years had included two more Super Bowls and Aaron’s retirement, after which were several pregnancies that didn’t quite take – something both Cooperator Anise and Dr. Howard had assured him was completely normal, not all pregnancies took and not all made it full term; pregnancy was a natural and imperfect process and absolutely no one’s fault when it failed. Aaron takes the words to heart and he and Clay never let go of the hope for another pup.

All the aches and pains and vomiting had been worth it that first time Aaron had held his pups close, exhausted as he cried into their soft baby hair, pulling away only so he could kiss Clay, listening as Clay said over and over again, “You’re amazing, you did so good; I’m so proud of you, Aaron.”

Now, Clay’s thrusts are shallow, but still hit Aaron deep. Aaron reaches behind him, digs his fingers in Clay’s hair and pushes back to meet him thrust for thrust. Behind him, Clay growls as his hand twists around Aaron’s dick, thumbing at the slit, as his pace picks up, his knot slipping easily into Aaron and locking them together.

Aaron only has enough to gasp out Clay’s name before he’s spilling over Clay’s hand, onto the couch. Clay follows quickly, emptying himself into Aaron. Clay keeps up a steady rumbling in his chest as he buries his face in Aaron’s neck.

 

-

 

Aaron flushes the toilet and stands and wipes his hand over his mouth.

“Mama?”

Aaron turns and sees Curly and his brother standing in the doorway, looking at him with wide-eyed concern. “One of you go and get your daddy,” Aaron says, turning back to the sink and rinsing his mouth out. He hears one of them scamper off and turns to see Curly coming up, giving him a careful hug around his waist.

“Aaron?” Clay asks, breathless.

Aaron smiles, “Yeah.”

Clay stares before surges forward and ducks his head into Aaron’s neck – inhaling deeply and only just then noting Aaron’s muted scent, an indicator of his pregnancy. Then he’s whooping and picking Aaron up and twirling him around. Aaron wraps his arm’s around Clay’s neck and his legs around Clay’s waist, as Clay carries him and then dumps him on the bed, quickly diving after him, all while yelling at the twins, “Go play outside, boys.”

The twins can’t get out of there fast enough even as Aaron pulls Clay down for a biting kiss. Neither of them asks _how_ or _why_ , they just accept it.

Besides, Aaron has a good feeling about this one.

 

-z-

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Squicks** : vomiting; an incident where Aaron is laughing so hard he wets himself; male lactation is briefly discussed but nothing happens onscreen.  
>  **Male omega anatomy and other fun things** : Aurilia's [Strangely Satisfying](https://archiveofourown.org/works/885485)


End file.
